


Don't Go

by Rabakholi



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Against the Wall - Freeform, Dirty Talk, F/M, Geralt is in loooooove, Kinda, Smut, angry smut?, cursed princess, lethal touch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22736656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabakholi/pseuds/Rabakholi
Summary: The Princess is angry, and Geralt loves when she is.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	Don't Go

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Beautiful and Damned](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22560055) by [dreamwritesimagines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamwritesimagines/pseuds/dreamwritesimagines). 



> Since Dreamie doesn't write smut, it's been made my obligation to write smut for her stories. here it is

She was scratching Roach’s neck, trying to keep her face neutral.  
In truth, her heart was in pain. Geralt was going back into the forest. He barely came out alive last time, after some gruesome monster surprised him and almost impaled him. Not that Geralt would ever have told her about it, no. She had to hear from Ciri, who heard it from the Bard. Jaskier was – ironically – the only one not lying about his missions. 

She didn’t notice Roach’s ears turning, her head raising as she nickered at her rider.  
“I thought I’d find you here.”  
His warm voice startled her, sent her tripping over her own feet as she turned around. Geralt caught her around the waist, pulled her flush against his body. “Don’t hurt yourself.”  
The princess looked up at him, into his golden eyes, and had to remind herself to breathe. Especially when his free hand came up and smoothed along her cheek. At first she tried to back away, but his hold on her didn’t budge – and he was wearing gloves. As always, around her.  
_I don’t want to waste just one second pulling gloves on, when I could be having my hands on you instead._  
She blushed at the memory, still speechless; and frankly, her priority right now was to burn his face into her mind, so she could draw him over and over again. At the end of this mission, he’d be gone. Or, if he was gone, the mission would end.  
Either way, odds were high she’d never see him again.  
Geralt observed her face, tiny smirk on his lips. “I really would like to kiss you right now.”  
Which – oh god.  
Good that he was holding her, because her knees were giving out. He came closer, his hand going from her cheek to the back of her head. “I wont. But I really want to.”  
His voice dropped another octave, she could feel the vibrations in her chest.  
Her throat was dry, her lungs struggled to get air.  
“I wish I could touch you the way I wanted. Make you feel good.”  
His hand smoothed down to the small of her back, barely stopped before he was cupping her bum.  
“Maybe when I’m back.”  
Now, that brought her back into reality. She found her strength, placed her hands on his chest, ignored the little voice in her head that told her to never take her hands away, and shoved at him.  
“You asshole.”  
He tilted his head in surprise, blinking owlishly. “What?”  
“You fucking asshole.” It wasn’t appropriate behaviour, not for a princess and not even for a lady, but she didn’t care. She was so furious.  
“How dare you talk to me like that, make those loose promises, when you know very well you could die!”, she hissed at him.  
His crossed his arms in front of his chest, eyes turning to slits. He knew, he wouldn’t get a word in, not when she was this angry.  
“How dare you play with my heart this way! I feel like this whole situation is tearing me apart, and you’re not helping, Geralt!”  
He used the break in her rant to advance upon her, clap one hand over her mouth, the other pressed to the small of her back to pull her against him once more. He’d never get tired of feeling her body under his fingers. He’d had dreams about this.  
He kissed the back of his hand. “Let’s not discuss this here, shall we?”  
And so he pulled her along, out of the stables and to her room, where there was at least the illusion of privacy.  
There, he let her go, waved a hand through the air in a ‘go on’ motion and waited.   
She was staring at him, pouty and annoyed.  
His not-kiss had surprised her and made her wish for this wretched curse to be gone already.  
She’d almost forgotten what she was so angry about. Oh, right.  
“You are mean.”  
Yes, well done, very eloquent, very witty.  
Seeing him in her room had her eyes fill with tears, and she couldn’t stop them. “I hate that you have to go, and then you come here, and say all those things! And I know this couldn’t ever be real, this couldn’t ever happen, because the moment the curse is lifted, my mother will be throwing suitors at me like I was a field to be sown!”  
Geralt had to hold back a sneer at her words. No one would have her. No one. As long as it made her happy, he’d be the only one touching her.  
“Don’t go.”  
“What?”  
She was pleading him, to stay, not to fight. “You could hide out here for the day, and then say you killed her but she refused to lift the curse – please don’t leave, I couldn’t bear if something happened to you.”  
Geralt’s eyes softened at her words. His precious princess. “I can’t. If there is any chance to lift this curse, I have to try it.”  
He stepped closer, hands reaching out once again. She willingly went to him, stepped into his embrace. Instantly, she felt safe, protected, like nothing ever had to worry her again. She looked up at him, wanted to cup his face and kiss him, but instead she placed her hands on his chest and rested her head against them.  
Warmth radiated from him, his voice was low, deep as he continued. “I’ll come back. I’m not willing to let anyone else have you.”  
“How selfish.”  
“Can you blame me?”  
He looked down at her, pupils dilating as she bit her lip.  
“Can you really blame me, when you look like that?”   
His fingers traced the laces of her dress, teasingly pulling here and there, not actually doing anything, because, well, obvious reasons.  
The little tugs grated on her nerves though – but in a good way. Tension was building, she could feel the heat pool in her belly at the thought of feeling his hands on her. His big, strong hands, with those long and deft fingers. Surely, he’d know how to use them.  
She blushed at her own thoughts, and turned her head away.  
Geralt noticed. Of course. A hand came up, one finger guiding her chin, so she’d look back up at him.  
“Tell me, princess.”  
His other hand still played with the laces, made it hard to think.   
“Can I see how far that blush goes?”  
His voice, his words sent shivers down her spine; she gave a curt nod. The pressure around her ribcage lessened as the laces gree loose.  
“Are you sure.”  
Hungry eyes were drinking her in; never had she felt so safe and wanted under such an intense gaze.  
“Yes.”  
A growl left Geralts chest, his fingers now working faster to peel the heavy dress off her.  
“You are divine, princess.”  
How he could say her title with such fondness, such reverence, almost like a prayer – she’d never know. But she did know, she wanted to hear it again, and again, and again.  
“Geralt, please.”  
The dress was off in less time than they needed in the mornings to get it on; much less time. This left her now in her shift, thin linen which hid nothing. His hands flexed on her hips, a groan and a curse filled the air. And suddenly, she was off the floor.  
He’d grabbed the back of her thigh, the other supporting her back, and lifted her up, turned and pressed her back to the wall, his hips pressed against hers. She could feel him hot and hard against her pelvic bone. He looked down at where they were joined, and rolled his hips once, twice; it was delicious.  
She’d helped her needs before, she was not completely innocent, but this. Never had she had a man, never did she think it could be like this! And Geralt was still fully clothed, still wearing gloves. God, there was still a dagger strapped to his thigh.  
He was ranting, telling her what he wanted to do to her, how he wanted to make her feel good, and that he wouldn’t let her leave bed for days, if he could have his way.  
it did nothing to calm her racing heart, to stop the heat from pooling in her belly, to keep her heartbeat from wandering down to her clit. Nothing. And he knew it.  
Her legs were around his waist, his hands wandering, never staying still. One pinched a nipple, the other palmed her ass, then wandered down to her knee and up to wrap around her waist and keep her exactly where he wanted her.  
“Say, princess.” His hip bumped against hers, the bulge in his breeches meeting her centre right on, making her let out a small moan.  
“Did you ever think of me? At night? In a dream?”  
She couldn’t answer, the constant friction, his consuming presence, his words in her ears; it was too much for her. She just nodded, then bit her lip when he rubbed against her with more force.  
“Did you touch yourself?”  
Another nod. It made no sense to lie to him, to deny him anything, not when he made her feel this good. He froze.  
“Princess. Darling.”  
His hand came up, thumb over her lips. “Don’t move.”  
And he pressed his lips to his thumb, just for a second, before pulling back and fixing her with those unique eyes of his. “One day, I’ll kiss you. I’ll properly kiss you.” His thumb swiped over her lower lip. “Here.”  
Then his hand left her face, fingertips traced a path down her neck, her chest, her belly, until he reached where he wished he was buried already. “And here.”  
His thumb pressed down on her clit, circled it, flicked it. His gloves felt strange, combined with the linen, but oh so good. Her hips bucked, completely out of her control, and Geralt just mirrored her. They fell into a rhythm, spurring each other on, driving them towards the edge faster and faster until they stood right there. Geralt ducked, one hand underneath her, to hold her, one at her clit, still working her; ducked down, his lips ghosting over her clothed shoulder, whispered sweet nothings against her skin and just when he felt her coming, he bit her shoulder, left his mark.  
No one would see it anyways.  
She was tense in his arms, her orgasm wracked through her, her breathing stopped for a moment, until she gasped and panted. He was still hard, still going, but he didn’t wanted her to grow oversensitive.  
His lady, his princess, this wonderful human being, reached down, cupped his dick and applied pressure, gave him something to rut against.  
“Geralt, please. Please, come.”  
HIs fingers digged into her skin, most likely leaving bruises, with how hard he was pressing. But she didn’t mind. It was something to remember him by.  
“Geralt, come on. I’m yours.”   
“Shit.”   
His hips stilled, his dick twitched under her hand.  
Geralt groaned, closed his eyes at that. He shot his load into his pants, like a boy.  
This woman will be the death of him.  
Their pants filled the air, mindless giggles filtering in, when she came back to herself.  
“This is not what I expected.”  
Geralt turned his head from where his forehead was pressed against her shoulder and glanced up at her. “What can I say? You’re beautifully terrifying when you’re furious.”  
  



End file.
